


Es Tuyo (Mi Corazón)

by mardemaravilla



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Atlético Madrid, Friendship, Friendship/Love, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 15:11:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3138914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardemaravilla/pseuds/mardemaravilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his debut in a brand new number, Fernando sends a gift to the one person who has always supported him the way these Atléti fans do: unconditionally.</p><p>[Can be either friendship or romance fic, depending on how you interpret it.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Es Tuyo (Mi Corazón)

**Author's Note:**

> Just something I whipped up while watching Fernando's second debut with AM. He looked good out there. As ever, I wish him only the best. Wherever he goes he'll still always have a special place in my heart and I'm sure in the hearts of a lot of other CFC fans.
> 
> PS: Juanando 4evs

Fernando feels queasy with pressure before his not-quite-first Atléti game. Since the day of his presentation, since forty-five thousand people danced in the Calderón, singing and shouting his name, since people wept with joy as he smiled and waved at a sea of red and white stripes, Fernando has felt it. 

It's a heavy weight that settles on his mind first, and then his heart. Then it migrates to his stomach and his legs feel like lead. He doesn't know how to talk to anybody about it; his joy and simultaneous dread at returning home. _Home_. Home to Fuenlabrada, home to Atlético Madrid. He's happy to be back with the people who love him unconditionally, but he's worried about letting them down. He hasn't had the best track record of impressing in recent years.

The morning of the Copa del Rey fixture he sits in the kitchen with a cup of coffee that is cooling faster than he bothers to drink it. The buzz of his cellphone shakes him from his thoughts.

"How do you always know when to call?" Fernando smiles.

"I set alarms," Juan jokes. "They let me know when it's been too long since I've annoyed you."

Fernando laughs at first but it turns into a hum of quiet thanks, "I could really use your voice right now."

"Are you worried you won't do well?"

"After being a 50-million dollar flop I thought it couldn't really get much worse, but if I disappoint them today...after everything, after all the love they've shown me...Juan, I'll be humiliated."

"What qualifies as a disappointment?"

"An own goal? A red card? Missing the net completely and contributing to all those compilation videos on YouTube?"

"I told you to stop watching those," Juan scolds. "And I've also told you that if you think those things will happen, you're more likely to make them happen. You're going to go out there in your stripes today and you're going to be amazing Fer, even if you don't end up on the score sheet. I know you."

Fernando smiles at Juan's confidence in him. He misses this. Being in Chelsea together was wonderful. Juan's quiet energy and fierce love for him were so empowering. Fernando has had some of his best moments at the midfielder's side. After Juan's move to Manchester it wasn't the same. Fernando accepted the loan to AC Milan, but things didn't work there either. Back in Atléti he feels more at peace, but he knows that Juan is still a big factor in his self-esteem.

" _Gracias_ , Juan. You know it doesn't mean the same unless I hear it from you."

"So flattering," Juan laughs. "It must be that Madrid air."

Fernando is about to reply with a cheeky retort when he hears a beep on the line. He tells Juan to wait for a second and he checks the screen to see who is calling. Sergio's name flashes on the caller id, and Fernando presses 'Ignore'. He'll call him back after, or get together for drinks when the match is over.

"It's Sergio, but--"

"Oh, I'll let you go then, "Juan cuts him off.

"No, I ignored the call. I'm going to see him at the match later, anyway."

Juan is a little quiet and then he says, "I guess it's nice to be back in Spain with all the guys around." Fernando hums in agreement, but from the tone of Juan's voice he knows that there is an addendum to his comment. It comes in the form of, "You are Sergio are close by. You can see him all the time. I guess you'll swap the jersey from your first game with him, right?"

Fernando hears the undertones in Juan's voice. He knows this man too well to not see through the fronts he puts up.

"I'll switch into a new shirt at half time and give him that at the end of the match. Somebody else is getting the first half shirt."

"Who?"

"Nobody from the team, but if Sergio boasts that he has the official first-game shirt, let him think so. If he finds out I've tricked him I'll never hear the end of it."

Juan scoffs, "He'll probably bleach his hair again, in mourning."

Fernando groans in disgust and then fidgets with his coffee cup.

"But thanks for calling. I appreciate it. You always know how to keep me calm. I miss having that all the time."

"I miss you," Juan says quietly. "Manchester is...it's good. It's okay, but it's not like before, with...in London. It's different."

Fernando knows Juan is still heart-sore over leaving Chelsea. He knows how much Juan wanted to live and die for the lion on his heart. Fernando feels the same way about Atlético, and he hopes that someday Juan can make it home to the club he loves too.

"Watch the game, okay?"

" _Siempre_."

When Fernando hangs up he smiles at his phone. Football is a fickle sport, but he's grateful that it's led him to someone like Juan.

 

At half time, Fernando ignores Sergio's swatting in the tunnel, begging him for his shirt. 

"Calm down, _tonto_. I'm still wearing it. I'll give it to you after the game."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

In the dressing room, Fernando strips out of his sweaty jersey and neatly sets it aside so that it can dry in the next forty-five minutes. He pulls on a new, dry shirt and listens as Coach Simeone (and isn't that still strange to say) talks to the team about their efforts so far.

 

After the match, after the slight disappointment of not taking the penalty, after the strong surge of adrenaline watching the ball caught up in the netting, after the excitement of seeing all those Rojiblancos screaming and cheering and _knowing now_ that he is on their side and they are on his, he meets Sergio in the tunnel.

"Thanks for the goal, my friend," Fernando laughs.

Sergio scowls, "I only did it because I thought they'd let you take the kick. I wanted to make your homecoming a memorable one."

Fernando raises an eyebrow, "Really?" It seems hare-brained enough to pass for one of Sergio's plans.

"Well, not intentionally. I pulled him down without thinking, but once the ref blew the whistle I was hoping you would take it."

Fernando shrugs and smiles. That's football for you; even when things don't work out, they still manage to work out. He unzips his jacket and tugs his shirt over his head.

"Here Sese, since you could hardly wait earlier. I know you've always wanted a shirt from the better side of Madrid."

Sergio scowls again but he takes the shirt from Fernando and his face breaks into a grin, "Torres 19. Ten times better than Torres 9."

"That's not how the math works, _tonto_."

Sergio makes another face and then he and Fernando disappear into their separate dressing rooms. Fernando showers and does some post-match interviews, and then he packs up his bag, first-half shirt in his hands and he drives to the nearest courier service. He smiles at the star-struck boy behind the counter and asks him politely how much it will cost to send a parcel to England.

 

The next day, in Manchester, Juan is surprised to receive a package. He recognises the scrawl as Fernando's hand, and he signs for it quickly before taking it into his kitchen. He tears the seal open and gently shakes the contents out. A puddle of red and white striped fabric pours onto the island counter. A square of paper flutters out and lands on top. Juan picks it up with shaking hands. He knows what this is. _He knows what this is_ and Sergio can think whatever he wants about the shirt Fernando gave him, Juan knows that this one is the real first-game worn Atlético Madrid 'Torres 19' shirt.

There are two words on the paper, in the same messy scribble that adorns the front of the box. Juan remembers them, and the way he shouted them wildly as he leapt into Fernando's arms at the end of the Euro Cup tournament. He'll never forget them. He'll never forget what he was really trying to say. He can't ever forget that despite all the words that came before and after, those two are the ones that mean the most.

' _Es tuyo._ '

Luckily, it seems like Fernando won't ever forget either.


End file.
